


Tokens

by harcourt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Gift Giving, I wrote this for the kinkmeme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:57:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harcourt/pseuds/harcourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=41699679#t41699679">this prompt</a>, in which Tony loves to receive gifts and Clint loves to give them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tokens

"What the hell is this, Barton?" Tony asks, holding up a vacuum sealed package. It takes a second to get an answer, because Clint is still about halfway inside his t-shirt. Tony waits until his head pops through the collar and he peers over before holding the heavy plastic up and giving Clint a quizzical look.

"I don't know," Clint shrugs. "Food, I think. I hope. We ate enough of it on stakeout that it had _better_ be food."

"I hope you brought this for me because you thought it was tasty, and not because you want me to test it to see if you need some kind of antidote."

Clint grins and comes over to flop onto his stomach on the bed, laying his head on one folded arm while he watches Tony go through the rest of his bag, tossing dirty clothes messily across the room and onto the floor, like an impatient, greedy child. "What? That’s it? Grub crackers?"

Clint takes the package back to peer more carefully at its contents. "I don't know if they're grubs. Maybe some kind of bean?"

"You ate it, and you don't know what it is?" Tony asks, frowning down at him as he feels along the bottom of the bag, looking for hidden compartments.

Clint drops the package into his lap before letting his arm drop so he can hug awkwardly around Tony's middle. "I do that all the time," he says, "Like at half the restaurants you like."

"That's _cuisine_ ," Tony tells him, finding nothing else in the bag and pushing it off the bed. "So, stakeout leftovers, huh? Wanna place bets on if Bruce can identify this?"

Clint tucks himself closer, mission-worn and sleepy, but laughs a little as Tony keeps squinting at the mystery he's brought back. "My bet is yes," he says.

"That was going to be my bet," Tony says, "Bet's off."

"Mm."

"But thanks for the present." 

Clint's arm tightens, just briefly, but he sounds pleased when he says, "You're welcome."

\-----

The next time Clint goes on a mission, he comes back with what looks like a murdered hula girl, metal hoop stuck violently through her head. "Ta-dah."

"Handicraft representation of your mission?" Tony asks, holding one hand out for it and using the other to push his safety goggles out of his face. Clint's not taken aback in the slightest.

"It's a keychain."

"I can see that." The tower doesn't even _use_ keys. At least not the traditional kind, but the thing would look awesome hanging from the quinjet's security lock. Or Cap's bike ignition, unless that would count as regifting and hurt Clint's feelings. "I need to get an office with a real door for this kind of thing. Or pick a favorite car."

Clint smiles, a little self-consciously. "You don't have to--I know it looks like a murder victim," he says, scratching at the back of his head, "but there was only this one really tiny, really bad market place and I didn't think I should bring back half-plucked chickens."

"Good call." 

"Anyway, it's hand crafted," Clint says. 

It would really have to be, but Tony doesn't say so because thinking of Clint hunting around some backend of the Earth for something to bring back is pretty touching. Even if that thing is unintentionally macabre key chains. 

"Hey. You okay to go out? Wanna go to dinner somewhere that requires a limo? Unless you're poisoned or shot or need to sleep for a while first?"

Clint grins at his feet. Hawkeye's weird shy thing is definitely endearing. Also because Clint doesn't seem aware that he's so transparent about being pleased at Tony's approval of his gifts. 

"Sounds like kinda a late night," he says, apologetically. Which is enough of a _let's go_ for Tony. 

" _Nah_." He flings his safety goggles away, then takes a bit more care with his welding torch, making sure it's properly turned off before dropping it to the table. "Dinner, desert, then home and bed. We can make it before you start dropping off into your tiramisu."

Clint waffles a bit more before continued mention of deserts wins him over. "Alright. But I need to grab a shower first. Does limo dinner mean I have to dress up?"

"You brought me murder girl before you'd even showered? Aw, Barton. Then you can wear whatever you want."

Clint grins. 

Tony tells him, "But just so you know, I'm going to look _sharp_ , and if you don't measure up people will think I'm your sugar daddy."

"If I can wear sneakers, I'm okay with that."

\-----

"Look," Clint says, home again-- _again_ \--from some secret agent jaunt, and drops himself into Tony's lap like he hasn't been away for going onto a week. "I got you something."

"I didn't realize you were on _vacation_ ," Tony says, as Clint slides his weight off, to sit sideways with his knees bent and bridging Tony's legs. He sets a small pyramidal paperweight on one knee, in front of Tony' face, balancing it with exagerated motions before carefully releasing.

"Ta dah."

"I'm going to take a wild guess about where you went."

"You'd be wrong," Clint says, "It was a whole _one level above your clearance, so don't ask questions, Barton_ deal. I could only bring you misleading things."

"How about a penguin?" Tony suggests.

"I said _misleading_ ," Clint jokes, and leans his head against Tony's shoulder, "Now you don't have to go paperless. As a company, I mean."

"Yes. Lack of a paperweight is _exactly_ what that was about. Thank god you've freed us to go back to chopping down the rainforests."

Clint leans into him a bit further, to plant a silly kiss on his cheek. "Knew you'd appreciate it."

"I do," Tony says, and tumbles them both over so he can kiss Clint properly, careful not to impale either of them on Clint's misleading pyramid, "And I appreciate you thinking of me while you're hunting penguin, or whatever it was SHIELD had you doing."

Clint pretends to try to roll him off, then gives in, laughing around the kiss and hooking Tony's leg with one of his own, tangling them together. "I always think about you," he says, when Tony pulls away, "when I'm freezing my ass off in the dark."

"What? And no other time?" 

Clint tangles a hand in his hair to tug him back in. "Not really," he says.

\-----

"There's nothing in this bag for me," Tony grumbles, tossing Clint's dirty socks in the general direction of the bathroom and therefore, by default, the general direction of the laundry hamper. He turns the bag over to shake it for emphasis. 

This time, Clint emerges in just a towel and if he thinks that's distraction, he's right, but Tony is a man of _focus_. "Barton."

"I spent the whole time in a sniper nest," Clint says. "Dropped in, and pulled out," he snaps his fingers, "like _that_."

"Boo."

"And the whole time there were bugs biting me," Clint goes on. "The _whole time_."

"Aw."

"I bet I managed to bring you one of those," he grumbles, "Or _some_ of those. A whole bunch, even. Maybe." He's goes to rummage through his dresser, pulling out underwear and a t-shirt and then a long sleeve t-shirt, then pauses. Almost like he's embarrassed to get dressed in front of Tony.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him.

"It's not--" Clint starts, then stops and shrugs and starts over. "So on the way back I thought about what I _could_ bring you."

"Oh god. You're about to offer me a blowjob. Wait. Hang on. I want to mush your hair and make it all sexy before you start talking. Right now you just look kind of rained on."

Clint blinks. Then he says, "They made us fly back commercial," he says, "From Buenos Aires. I grabbed you the little pretzels. But your thing works too. Whichever."

" _Which_ ever?" Tony says, and pouts, "What if I want both?" Because there's no way he's turning down anything Clint still thought to bring after being eaten alive by South American wildlife all night. Possibly even while hiding in a tree. 

"You can have both," Clint says, tossing his clothes onto the bed but--disappointingly--securing his towel. "Or, you know. Whatever else." Then he adds, "But not at the same time."

"Of course not at the same time. I want to give your airline pretzels my full attention."

Clint gives him a little fake-hurt look, and Tony drops the act to make grabby hands at him. "I was thinking about you, too. The whole time you were being ant food," Tony says, and rests his hands on Clint's hips. "Now d'you mind if I lose you your towel?"

\-----

What they almost lose, the next time Clint goes out with SHIELD, is _Clint_.

Steve tries to keep everyone calm until word comes back, but the second there's a green light on visitors, Tony's barging into recovery, crazy-haired and with his suit rumpled from his impatient vigil in the waiting room.

It's a pointless rush, because Clint's still out cold, pale and bandaged and with monitors beeping steadily at his bedside. Tony swallows, then swallows again, then sits down to go back to waiting. At some point, Steve or Bruce or someone brings him coffee, but after taking a sip or two to appease them, it sits untouched and cooling on the side table next to a depressing plastic water cup.

Clint's okay. He's supposed to be fine, and coming out of it soon, and before Tony can panic about how long that's taking, Clint's face scrunches in discomfort and he makes a low complaining noise. 

"Hi Clint," Tony whispers, more so Clint will wake to a familiar voice than anything, "Hello. Welcome back."

Clint makes a damp _mmgh_ sound, and shifts uncomfortably. 

"Come on, Barton."

His eyes crack open. They look gummy and Tony dips the napkin that came with his coffee in the cup of water and uses it to wipe Clint's face a little. Clint twitches away, and groans, then blinks again before finally getting it together enough to focus on his face.

"Tony?"

"Mm-hm. Hey there, sexy."

Clint's laugh is breathy. A little pained sounding. "Didn't--" he starts, then swallows and repeats hoarsely, "Didn't get you anything." His fingers twitch, reaching a little, and Tony hooks them with his own, careful of the IV stuck in the back of his hand.

"You don't have to bring me things, dummy. You--" Tony swallows, then lets his head drop, resting it on the bed and against Clint's arm. "You're just supposed to come home." 

"But you look so stupid and happy," Clint says, with all the honesty of being half out of his head on painkillers. "It's funny. I love it." 

Tony can't help laughing, but it comes out wet and--thankfully--muffled against Clint's arm. "Yeah. I love you too."

Clint shifts, and then the fingers of his other hand are in Tony's hair, clumsy, but careful. Like he thinks Tony is the one hurt here. "S'okay, Tony. Blowjob later," he mumbles, and yeah. Not the time for heartfelt talks. 

"Nah, Barton. You alive is enough." 

"Great," Clint slurs, "You too."

Tony laughs again, less wet, but still with his head tucked up against Clint and with Clint's uncoordinated fingers pulling in his hair. Just enough to be uncomfortable. "Thank you for coming back," he says, "Clint."

"S'not as good as the pyramid," Clint says, "But you're welcome."


End file.
